Your Weekend


PHOTO COURTESY OF IFE AKINKUNMI
The sweet, sweet harvest of an early morning run to B. Doughnut.

B-there or b-square: a visit to B. Doughnut

September 29, 2016

The cronut has come to Baltimore. Or, at least, the doughssant has. A metaphorical and physical portmanteau of doughnut and croissant, the doughssant is a delicious hybrid between the two pastries. It has flaky, buttery, laminated dough like a croissant, but is fried like a doughnut. Sound amazing? It is, but you better be prepared to go to some lengths to get one.


Creative Alliance features Rats, Leyla McCalla

September 22, 2016

It is a Sunday night and I should be at home doing homework. Instead, I am sitting in the back of my friend’s car, listening to her talk with her neighbor, wondering if the concert we are on the way to will be worth the loss of sleep I see coming my way like a freight train.

MCWICKLE/cc-by-2.0
Leyla McCalla during her time with the Carolina Chocolate Drops.

The fellowship of Belvedere Square Market

September 22, 2016

Hobbits eat six meals a day: Breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, luncheon, afternoon tea and supper. You could make a hobbit very happy at any time of day by taking them three miles due north of Homewood to Belvedere Square Market, a closed market best described as a gourmet food court.


The wizard of Waverly Farmer’s Market

September 15, 2016

It’s 7:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning, and no one looks more alive than the older gentleman strumming a guitar at the entry of the Waverly Farmer’s Market. He sits on an old milk crate, holding court next to Zeke’s Coffee with his circular spectacles glinting in the light.

 RICHARD LAYMAN/cc-by-nc-2.0
A typical, joyful Sunday morning at the Waverly Farmer’s Market between 32nd and 33rd Streets.

Courtesy of Veronica Reardon
Foghorn Stringband plays with local Baltimore musicians Brad Kolodner and Patrick McAvinue.

Local musicians host cozy house concerts

April 28, 2016

“What happened to you?” I hear as soon as I step onto the porch. It’s Joe Langley, or Old Joe as I admittedly think of him. He’s referring to my splinted, bandaged finger, on which I recently had surgery.